Polarity
by TheWitch'sCat
Summary: "Severus, we are reflections of each other. We are marked, broken and wicked. We were hated by our fathers. We are responsible for the death of our first and greatest loves. We were isolated, protecting children we resent. We are misunderstood, bitter, and destined to die alone in a world where no good deed goes unpunished. But perhaps, together, we can make a different future."
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**I want to share with my readers...my original novel, September Blue, is now available on Amazon and Kindle. The link is available on my profile page or by searching for "September Blue" by Cat Whitney on Amazon. :-)**

 **So, I've been working on this behind the scenes for a bit, and I've decided to post it. I posted a couple of test chapters from this a while back, but now it's more fleshed out. Those chapters may or may not make the final cut. This is set post Battle of Hogwarts and I've incorporated a couple of characters from other "worlds." I'm using them like OCs. The idea is that all magical worlds, and therefore magical people, exist in Harry Potter's world. Mainly, I am pulling Elphaba from Wicked (orginally Wizard of Oz) and Mary, of Mary Poppins. I will also make other smaller references. As for plot, this is the story of the Wizarding World trying to put themselves back together after the war. I've imagined that the aftermath might be similiar to what happened after World War II, specifically with the Nuremberg Trials. I'm following three main stories, one for Draco, one for Severus Snape, and one for Mary and Minerva. The story will be set entirely in the world of Harry Potter. Please let me know your thoughts.**

 **With that, we commence...**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Prologue**

 _May 2nd, Just After the Battle of Hogwarts_

"We can't just leave him there. We can't."

Professor McGonagall looked Harry over, noting the raw determination in his eyes. His dark hair was mussed, his glasses were bent, and his exposed skin was smeared with dirt-encrusted blood. His body looked weary but his eyes were bright and pleading. Minerva was more than surprised at his persistence. She knew all the students must be in a terrible state of shock. Children had seen things the night before that no one should see in their lifetime. The battle had been won, but at great cost. Many of Harry's classmates lay dead. So Minerva was surprised that _this_ was Harry's first request. Surely Fred or Professor Lupin was more deserving of his intentions.

Softly, Minerva said, "We will take care of all the bodies in time. Paying respect to those who sacrificed so greatly is our first concern, after we've tended to the seriously wounded. But Professor Snape…"

She refused to call him Headmaster.

Harry worked his jaw and replied, "He's not what you think. He _wasn't_ what you thought."

Hermione rubbed her eyes, the weariness finally showing in her own dirt-smeared face. Her hair was wild and hastily pulled back. She didn't look any more interested in trekking to the boathouse than Minerva. Carefully, Hermione said to Harry, "Professor McGonagall can send someone, can't you?"

Minerva started to answer.

"No!" Harry cut her off, "It needs to be us," he paused, "Dumbledore would want it to be us."

Minerva tilted her head, her eyes searching Harry's face. She recognized that there was something more to this than what the boy was saying. Her underlying feline instincts whispered as much.

After a quiet pause, he began again, saying, "I think the two of you need to come with me."

Harry started to walk away. Minerva watched him, a little put off that he was essentially demanding that she follow him. Hermione, however, seemed to understand that Harry was in a position to know when something was important. She gave Minerva a pleading look and then started to follow. Minerva gave a little sigh and swept after them.

Harry led the way through the castle, sidestepping piles of rubble and backtracking to find ways around passages that were blocked. They all averted their eyes from the pools of blood and bodies not yet claimed. Minerva cast silent charms over the dead so that those who were helping with the bodies would be alerted to their locations. It was the least she could do. Finally, when they turned down a familiar corridor, she realized Harry was heading toward the Headmaster's office. The last time she'd been in that room had been with Professor Snape and his lackeys as he had lashed her verbally for having an ounce of compassion. The memory made her angry, and she wondered what Harry could possibly have stored in the office that Snape had not already found and destroyed.

They stopped at the stairs, but the password was unnecessary as the battle had blown the doors open quite effectively. Harry led the way up, his face still etched with determination. Once inside the office, they looked around, noting that it was relatively intact. Minerva found just a hint of comfort in the fact that this room was spared. It was the center of power for Hogwarts, if only symbolically, but she would not underestimate the power of symbolism.

Crossing to the massive desk, Harry carefully pulled the ancient pensieve toward himself. Looking back at Hermione and then Minerva, he said, "I can't explain it. You have to see for yourselves."

Minerva stared at him, trying to understand what could be so important at this moment that they had to dive into memories. Hermione, however, crossed to where Harry stood immediately. They were used to trusting each other. The last year had taught them not to argue, but to trust. It made them appear so much older than seventeen. With one last glance at Harry, Hermione dipped her head into the silvery pensieve and her mind was gone.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione's expression was enough to convince Minerva to do the same. She fell into the memories and finally saw what Harry had seen - Severus as a child, Severus made bitter and distrustful, Severus struggling with his own pride, loneliness, and his fascination with the dark, Severus as she remembered him as a student, but through his eyes, and Severus with Lily. Always, his mind held Lily. She saw his conversations with Dumbledore, what was asked of him. Then there was the tower, and that awful night.

 _Avada Kedavra!_

Minerva snapped back out of the pensieve, speechless. They all stood there for some time, silent.

Finally, Harry said, "Now, do you see?"

"Yes," Minerva whispered. Withdrawing her wand, she whispered a spell and pulled the memories from the pensieve. Hermione wordlessly handed her a vial and she stored them, silvery and silent. Stoppering the vial, Minerva remembered the last time she had seen Severus alive. He had faced off with Harry in the great hall, and she had been angry enough to hex him into dust. Now, however, she remembered the slight hesitation in him as she'd pushed Harry aside and raised her wand. She remembered how he had dropped his wand slightly, and how in his eyes there seemed to be a desperate need for it all to be over. She remembered, then, that his last act before flying out the window had been to take out Amycus and Alecto with a sweep of his wand.

Leveling Harry with a stern gaze, Minerva finally conceded, "You're right. He does deserve a proper burial. But so does everyone else, so we should do this quickly."

Harry needed no other encouragement. He started off toward the door.

Hermione's hesitation stopped him, however. She was staring across the room, her jaw working the way it did when she was solving an unsolvable problem.

"Come on Hermione," Harry encouraged, "We should hurry. I'm sure we'll be missed soon."

Her eyes met his, and he saw a familiar resolve, "No. You two go on. I remembered something I promised to do. I'll catch up."

Minerva saw Harry consider arguing, but fatigue settled in his shoulders. Instead, he simply nodded and led the way back out of the office. Minerva followed and, together, they made the trek to the boat house.

There were an interminable amount of stairs leading down to the lake, and Minerva usually made it a point not to take them unless absolutely necessary. She was too old for this, but then, she was probably too old for battle as well. Ignoring the ache in her bones, she descended the stairs until they reached the edge of the lake. Clacking their way across the wooden dock, they slowed their pace as they rounded the corner into the shadows of the boat house.

The sun was muted and reflected off the water, casting ripples of light all around them. The air was heavy and dank, with the hint of old wood and mildew. Harry continued to lead, but more slowly. When he reached the far end of the platform, he stopped and looked around, his eyes searching. Minerva took a few more steps forward, surveying the area herself.

"I don't understand," Harry whispered, "It was here. He was here."

Minerva looked more closely at their surroundings. Overall, the place looked no different than usual. However, at the far end of the room, where the wall was made of murky glass that filtered the brightening sun, there was blood. Smeared across the window and pooled beneath it was what could be nothing other than blood. Minerva crossed the space and waved her wand over it. Watching the way the swirls from her wand changed color over the sticky, red puddles, she determined it was human blood. Then, she looked around, very confused.

Harry was shaking his head as well, and said, "I don't understand. He was _here_. Someone else," his voice cracked with anger, "must've gotten here first."

Minerva looked around, furrowing her brow and trying to make sense of it, "It doesn't seem very likely," she mused, "The rest of the death eaters have fled and they're not particularly known for their loyalty to each other, or their need to…memorialize the dead."

Harry ran a hand through his hair and paced, obviously distressed, "I just feel very strongly that Dumbledore would want me to do this. He said he didn't understand why Snape," he paused, "Why Professor Snape would want to hide the best of himself. He wanted people to know what the man did. He would want it made right, in the end."

Minerva crossed the space and laid her hand on his arm, saying, "Albus would appreciate your effort. You know how much he valued intention, even if that intention didn't yield the perfect result."

"It's just," Harry struggled, "I see it now. I can't agree with everything Professor Snape said or did, but," he paused, "it must have taken an incredible amount of courage to…I mean, for all these years…"

Minerva placed her hand gently on his shoulder and said, "I think, for Albus, it would be enough that you know that. He wasn't one for great pomp and circumstance. And you don't need a body to make sure the wizarding world knows the truth about Severus."

Harry rubbed his face, looking altogether exhausted and much older than his years, and then he said softly, "I suppose you're right. But I wanted him to have a proper grave, to ensure that they all realize we were wrong. I want it in stone that we were wrong about Severus Snape."

Minerva looked back at the blood streaked glass and said, "I know, child. I know. But you and I know that what spreads by word of mouth is often far more powerful than what's put in stone."

She gave him a long, meaningful look.

They both turned back towards the exit just as Hermione came around the corner. She crossed the space and reacted much the same as they had done. Turning back around, she stated, "He's gone."

Starting back towards the exit again, Minerva said, "Come on, both of you. We're certainly missed by now and the living need us far more than the dead. I'll make some inquiries as soon as I can about Professor Snape's body. I give you my word."

Harry struggled, glancing back again at the blood-streaked windows.

Very softly, Hermione said, "Come on, Harry. He's gone. He was gone when we left him here the first time, and there was nothing you could do. Let's go put our world back together. For all of them."

She was always the voice of reason, and Minerva could see that Harry agreed with her. With a reluctant nod, he followed. Together, they all made their way back to the castle to face the morning.

* * *

A few hours later, Minerva found herself in her office. She was exhausted. Her bones ached from all she had endured in the past twenty-four hours. All she wanted was a change of clothes and a few hours sleep before another round of questions arose. The wizarding world's problems were not over with the death of Voldemort, and the happily-ever-after was already proving to be complicated. The magical community was now calling for rounding up all the Death Eaters who had fled, and the student body was in chaos. There was so much to do and so many great leaders were dead. Before she could so much as sit down, however, Minerva nearly jumped out of her skin as another witch apparated just feet from her.

Looking around, the woman stated, "Your wards must be terribly weakened. I didn't think that would work."

Minerva looked her over and asked unnecessarily, "Mary?"

The other woman raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, as if it were ludicrous that she could be anyone else.

Minerva sighed heavily and said, "I didn't expect to see you so soon. We have quite a mess, here."

The woman named Mary looked around the room, taking in the office around her. She was dressed smartly in a well-pressed black skirt with an expensive black overcoat. Her dark hair was upswept and brushed to a shine. Her boots were sensible, yet polished. She looked both old-fashioned and very modern at the same time. Her presence commanded attention, but her charms had little effect on Minerva.

Mary Poppins had been working as a liaison for Hogwarts since long before Minerva was a student. Although older than Minerva, Mary used some sort of complicated potion and charm combination to keep herself looking no more than thirty. To Minerva, it was useless vanity. Mary, very much like Hermione, had come from a Muggle family. Her parents didn't know what to do with her, as her magic came on early and strong. At age eleven, when her letter arrived, her parents were more glad to be rid of her than surprised. She was a top student at Hogwarts and had quickly proved excellent at Legilimency and wandless magic. Not wanting to be stuck at the Ministry, Mary had taken a position in the Muggle world. At the time of her appointing, integrating Muggle-borns into the magical community had been considered extremely important and valuable. The process of finding and collecting them for schooling was overhauled and touted as progressive. Mary was hand-picked to live among the Muggles, as a nanny, finding those who showed magical ability and making sure they received their letters. Were it not for her, and those like her, many Muggle-borns might have been overlooked. Not everyone was as important, and therefore as watched, as Harry Potter. She also made parents feel at ease with the whole thing. Mary, Minerva realized, had a particularly fine ability to put ideas into other people's heads. She was also prickly and self confident, with a wild streak that had never been tamed. Minerva had a difficult time saying anything against her, because Mary was also a proud Gryffindor. However, as hard-nosed as she was about following the rules in her work, Mary flouted all convention in her personal life. She did what she wanted, with whom she wanted, and refused to ever explain herself. Still, she loved the students and she was fiercely loyal to Hogwarts, so her expression today was deeply concerned.

Not quite sure what to say at this point, Minerva asked, "Perhaps you could come back? In the morning?"

Mary gave her a hard look and said, "I have parents demanding information about their children. Former clients have sought me out. They're not even being careful. I'd say if there's much more panic the Muggles will be very suspicious indeed."

Minerva dropped onto her settee, rubbing her forehead as she struggled with the decisions. She very much wanted to transfigure into her Animagus and disappear for a while, but Hogwarts needed her leadership. Someone had to steer this ship in the right direction.

With a heavy sigh, she said, "Tell them we'll have a list of all students and their…status, by sundown."

With a curt nod, Mary said, "Very well. And good luck."

Grasping her ever-present umbrella, which Minerva highly suspected disguised her wand - a trick Hagrid had stolen - Mary raised her chin and was gone with a crack.

 _I really must put the apparition wards back in place,_ Minerva told herself wearily.

Sleep, it seemed, would have to wait.

* * *

Miles away, across the vastness of an ocean and beyond beaches, plains and mountains, another witch was in quite the struggle. She shielded herself from her attackers, still not entirely sure what she'd done to her assailants. Certainly, she had done a lot of wrong things, but none that she could recall to this particular mob of people.

Clearly, she'd angered them somehow, because they were assaulting her with buckets of water and screaming, "Kill the witch!"

Just when she thought she could take it no more, as her mind cried out for someplace, any place, other than where she was, the assault stopped. Her attackers disappeared. The very scenery disappeared. Her screams died out and she registered quiet. She felt the coolness of outdoor air on her scorched skin. She squinted into bright light.

Elphaba, the wild and infamous Wicked Witch of the West, looked around. She was certainly not in Oz any more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Another chapter. I would really love to hear from some of you. :-)**

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

 _Four Months Later_

"This is the last one. I mean it."

Draco looked the bartender in the eye as a glass was place unceremoniously in front of him. The bartender's displeasure was obvious. Draco raked his white-blonde hair back from his face and grumbled his annoyance. He was too drunk to form actual words, however. The irony was lost on him in his current state. The bartender took the empty glasses and walked away, not bothering to hide his disgust.

 _Stupid Muggles. You're only good for your liquor and your ignorance._

As soon as he thought it, Draco knew it was wrong. His conscience had developed an annoying way of reminding him that he was the least effective Death Eater to ever be marked. The realization filled him with an outbreak of self-loathing, so he swigged another mouthful of his alcoholic antidote.

Glancing at his watch, Draco knew he should go home. It wasn't particularly late, but his parents had been keeping him on a tight leash since the indictments began. He understood their fears. Every week more former Death Eaters were being brought in for questioning and charged with everything from petty theft to murder. Justice was making its rounds, and the Malfoys had declared some sort of unofficial house arrest as they tried to wait out the worst of it. Narcissa, especially, insisted that Draco come home at night. If nothing else, he knew his mother loved him. She would go to any lengths to keep her son safe, but Draco wasn't sure he wanted to be saved anymore.

With Voldemort gone, he was part of nothing. There was no Dark Lord to pledge allegiance toward, and the wizarding world at large despised him. His father was reluctant to repent and make any real amends, and Draco couldn't see himself groveling in front of the newly named Headmistress McGonagall or the Golden Trio. Lucius Malfoy had instilled a selfish pride in his son that wasn't easily broken. Therefore, Draco's life consisted of days sleeping off his hangover and nights working on the next one. In his room at Malfoy Manor lay the honorary degree he'd received from Hogwarts, no different than the one all of the other students in his year had received.

Today, a new flock of students would be starting at Hogwarts. It was the last step in rebuilding. Some of the oldest students, including Hermione Granger, would return to finish their studies, having been unable to do so during the war. Draco, however, had no desire to go back. He could find an apprenticeship if he really wanted one. He could walk away from his parents and make another life, but some ties are simply too strong. The desire to finally make Lucius Malfoy proud of him still burned too fiercely. The need to have his mother's support was a crutch he couldn't drop. So Draco drank in the Muggle pub to get away from the prying eyes of other wizards, all while disparaging the Muggle employees under his breath. He drained his final drink and wondered if he still had a bottle of his father's firewhiskey under his bed. He had just started to consider stumbling home when he heard a commotion outside. Sliding off the bar stool and standing unsteadily, he squinted out the front windows onto the street.

There, he saw a woman arguing with three other figures. They looked almost like Muggles, two men and a woman dressed in dark suits. But Draco caught a glimpse of a wand clutched in one of their hands. The woman they were interrogating was cloaked in black as well. She was swathed in a dark skirt, boots, and a hooded black cloak. She certainly looked less-than-Muggle. As the other three seized her and tried to drag her with them, Draco caught a glimpse of her face. He could've sworn, as the light from the street lamps spilled over her, that she was green. Too quickly, however, the others drug her from the sidewalk and into the dark.

* * *

The following day, Minerva found herself sitting in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic listening to the interrogation of a prisoner they'd picked up on the streets of London. Magical law enforcement claimed she'd been using magic with wild abandon around Muggles, and that they had evidence she'd been doing it for several months. Minerva found the whole affair tedious. In her mind, the Wizengamot had far more important people and problems to deal with than a rogue witch who hadn't harmed anyone. However, she wasn't very good at communicating her thoughts diplomatically, so she held her tongue. She couldn't help thinking that Albus would've known what to say. He was more patient, more impartial, and more introspective. Minerva was simply frustrated that she'd been pulled away from Hogwarts, where the new school year had just commenced. With a sigh, she tried to focus.

The hearing was for a witch by the name of Elphaba Thropp who, to the shock of everyone in the courtroom, was absolutely grass green. There were legends in several books about witches and wizards who ended up with fur or scales, or turned inhuman colors by potion-making mistakes or badly used charms, but this was a first. According to the documentation, this Elphaba claimed to have been born this way. She was also clearly from the States, although she was dressed like no American wizard Minerva had ever seen.

Breaking into Minerva's thoughts, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the current Minister for Magic, asked the witch, "So, you mean to tell us that you had absolutely no idea that apparating in full view of Muggles was a crime punishable by up to…"

"No," Elphaba interrupted the stately, dark-skinned man who sat above her, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Minerva watched as the very green-skinned woman strained against the shackles that held her. She would've argued that the restraint was unnecessary, given the nature of the crime and the slender build of this particular witch, but the green woman struggled with strength and determination that belied her size. She was tall and thin, with severe features. She looked to be some years past thirty. The witch tossed her long, tangled, black hair and closed her eyes in concentration. In the next moment, objects from around the room launched themselves into the air, haphazardly flying at those presiding over the hearing. With a wave of his wand, Kingsley sent the objects clattering to the ground. With another swoosh, pens and bags returned themselves to their owners. Then, Minerva watched as Kingsley folded his hands together and considered the witch in front of him.

He carefully asked, "Miss Thropp, do you have any sort of defense for your actions?"

Glaring up at him with bright, hazel-brown eyes, she stated, "No. I suppose I do not. I've never had an excuse for myself."

Kingsley was quiet for a moment before saying, "All right then. Examination is over. We will have a few minutes of deliberation."

With that, he turned and cast a muffling spell so that the members of the Wizengamot could speak privately.

Minerva looked around, wondering what the others were thinking. She had fought hard to be included in this elite group of wizards. Even in these modern times, witches had to fight harder than wizards to hold places on the Wizengamot. Before the second wizarding war, most had considered her a wise old teacher who once played a fierce game of Quidditch, but not a warrior. Even her animagus was tame, a housecat rather than a wild animal. She was smart and passionate, but not particularly threatening. The war, however, had changed her, as it had so many others. She was determined to be strong, to see what was hidden beneath exteriors, as Dumbledore had done. As the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, she wanted to honor his memory, even if it meant suffering through this tediousness. So she listened to the others, weighing her words before she spoke.

"She's clearly dangerous," a shriveled old witch argued, her arms crossed defiantly, "She must've been cursed, to be that color."

A young wizard, perhaps the youngest on the panel, spoke up, "Cursed does not necessarily mean evil. Many good witches and wizards have been cursed."

"She's out in broad daylight, not trying to look at all like the muggles but living among them and apparating wherever she pleases! She was using magic in the streets! The list of crimes is endless!" a bushy-haired old wizard with an ill-chosen mustache argued.

More arguing went on for several more minutes. Each member of the panel had their own opinion, some more veracious than others. Minerva listened, calculating her position. She was forced to admit that every trial, at this point in time, was pivotal. Several Death Eaters were already being held in the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement as the Wizangamot decided what to do with them. Tempers were flaring daily as people made arguments for sending the Death Eaters to trial or simply executing them. There were those who thought they should be sentenced to Azkaban without inquiry. There were those who favored torture, and the debate spread beyond just the Ministry. The press was weighing in daily, publishing the beliefs of the population as a whole. Tensions were high and Minerva feared they were facing another battle in the wake of Voldemort's demise. The first battle had been physical. This one would be political. What the wizarding world chose to do with the Death Eaters would set a precedent for how war criminals should be treated. It could revolutionize the entire justice system. So she had to concede that every verdict was important in these post-war times, even the trial of an obscure witch from the Americas whom they'd never seen before.

Minerva finally spoke up, saying, "I think we might be ignoring one of the most significant facts in this case."

"Yes?" Kingsley Shacklebolt met her eyes.

"Did you not see what she was doing?"

"Yes," a tall, thin witch from the back answered, "she was casting spells in the courtroom without regard for the rules!"

"No," Minerva interjected, "not that. Yes, she was breaking the rules. But, she has no _wand_. She was performing _wandless_ magic. With great ease, I might say."

Kingsley fixed Minerva with a serious expression and said, "I believe that is the problem. That kind of power is dangerous. And she's wielding it with no restraint. Around Muggles."

"Perhaps you're right," Minerva went on, "but there's been no dark magic. She's done nothing more than apparate and other carelessness. What sort of dark witch takes those kinds of risks around Muggles without doing something nefarious?"

"I believe that is exactly the point, Headmistress," interjected Kingsley, "We don't know her intent."

Before another wizard could speak, Minerva pressed on, "There's also the fact that she claims to be from Oz. From _Oz_ , Minister Shacklebolt."

The others gave each other looks of concern or disbelief.

"Anyone could make that claim," Kingsley warned.

"Possibly," Minerva went on, "but I think it would be wise to at least investigate. If I remember correctly, the Department of Ministries has been trying to help the Americans solve the mystery of Oz for some time now."

"That is true," Kingsley agreed lowly.

Minerva turned and looked the green witch over carefully once again. Her hair was a mess and her clothes were disheveled, but her eyes were keen and searching. Even though she couldn't hear them, she was studying Minerva and the panel carefully. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the members as though she could read lips or possibly minds. She was smart and powerful, that Minerva was sure of. Whether she was dangerous was justifiably uncertain. But down inside of her, where her instincts lay, Minerva felt that this odd, green person was not a lost cause. If her primary intention was to hurt people, she would be out doing that. Apparating was not a violent act and the charges in this case were not all that serious. She'd broken several ministry laws and that required discipline, but not capital punishment. Minerva, in the new light of a post-war world, saw things differently.

Meeting Kingsley's eyes again, she stated, "My request is that you give her to me."

"What?" the panel members echoed each other.

Minerva cleared her throat and said, "Give her to me. Hogwarts is the best school in this part of the world. I don't know where exactly this woman came from, but it's obvious she has not had any sound magical education. Perhaps she truly doesn't know how she got here. Or maybe she's just embarrassed at her lack of knowledge. Either way, she could benefit from some good…rehabilitation. And Hogwarts could benefit from the Ministry's public support of our ability to continue to educate witches and wizards. _Of any age_. So, let me have her. The protections at Hogwarts have been restored and are incomparable. The way the school is warded, she might as well be in a prison. At the first sign of trouble, you can try her again as you see fit."

The others grumbled among themselves while Kingsley studied Minerva closely. She knew that, if nothing else, the war had taught them to trust one another.

After a long minute, Kingsley held up his hands for silence. To the panel, he posed, "All those in favor of turning Miss Thropp over to Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School?"

Hands rose.

"All those against?"

Different hands were lifted.

By a margin of just two, Minerva won her request.

"I have two stipulations," Kingsley said before the others could discuss the decision, "She stays at Hogwarts. She goes nowhere else. And you report back to us with the truth of where she is from, corroborated, within one month. If she proves dangerous, she goes to Azkaban."

Minerva nodded her agreement.

Kingsley removed the muffling charm and turned to announce the verdict.

* * *

The following morning, Elphaba sat in the Headmistress' office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was staring down Minerva McGonagall, who was staring back at her with an equal amount of wary apprehension. Elphaba could say where she was and who she was looking at because the slender, gray-haired witch in front of her had informed her as such the night before. Headmistress McGonagall had also given her a room in one of the towers, complete with a lock on the door and a guard outside.

 _May as well be prison,_ Elphaba grumbled to herself, crossing her arms over her chest. The sleeves of her dress were too long, as it was given to her from some stash of horrid things from the school's closet. She adjusted the gray material, at least glad it wasn't yellow. Or orange. Or god forbid, pink. Elphaba felt a twinge in her gut at that thought, because there had been a time when someone had told her that pink looked good with green.

 _Galinda,_ Elphaba said to herself, remembering honey-blonde curls and a musical laugh. That had been so long ago, when they were so young, so innocent.

"Miss Thropp," Minerva finally spoke.

Elphaba raised an eyebrow.

Clasping her hands together on the desk, Minerva looked over her wire-rimmed glasses and said, "You should know, I do not think you are dangerous. But you must understand, we have just been through a war. One that took place right here, at Hogwarts. It wasn't over land or property, but over the rights of certain individuals to exist in our world. I assume you are old enough to know that the propagation of hate, of division and superiority, is a difficult thing to undo?"

With a harsh laugh, Elphaba stated, "I know better than you think. Oz was on the cusp of a war itself when I…left."

"Yes…" Minerva stated, "Let's discuss the events that caused you to leave. And what brought you here. And I would like the truth."

Elphaba ran her hands through her thick, black hair. This morning she was at last clean, having made use of the facilities in her quarters. For a prison, she at least had decent amenities. Her hair was still damp and she pulled out a few tangles before deciding what to say.

Finally, she spoke, "I came from Oz. From Rush Margins, specifically. Although I was making my home in the Vinkun Mountains when they attacked me."

"Attacked you?" Minerva raised an eyebrow.

Elphaba nodded defensively, "Yes. A band of misfits. Some girl and the societal rejects she'd collected. They came shouting 'kill the witch!'"

"So you are aware that you're a witch?" Minerva questioned.

"I have been labeled a witch," Elphaba defended, "but I hardly agree. I have some skill in sorcery, but that was not my life's vocation."

Minerva chuckled, "I agree. Being a witch is not a vocation on its own. There are many witches and wizards who choose to work in non-magical professions."

Elphaba considered the older woman's words, watching Minerva unfold her long fingers and drum them on the large desk behind which she sat.

Minerva went on, "What was your vocation then?"

Sitting up straighter, Elphaba answered, "Life sciences. The study of anatomy and sentience, specifically as it applies to Animals."

"Animals?" Minerva looked incredulous.

Elphaba nodded, "Yes, Animals. Those that speak."

"Do you mean Animagi?" Minerva asked.

Thoroughly confused, Elphaba asked, "What?"

"Animagi," Minerva clarified, "witches and wizards who can transform into animals?"

Taken aback, Elphaba asked, "Really? Are they born that way?"

It was Minerva's turn to look surprised, "No. It's a spell. A complicated one. I teach it to my advanced students, and I am a registered Animagus, myself."

Elphaba just stared at the older woman, unable to believe what she was hearing. Finally she asked, "So…you are also an Animal?"

With a slight nod, Minerva stood from behind the desk. With a slight twitch across her shoulders her tall, lean form curled into that of a grey tabby cat. The cat sat on the desk, eyeing Elphaba with bright eyes. Elphaba's mouth dropped open in shock. She could think of no words. After a minute, Minerva transfigured back and took her seat again.

Straightening her robes, she questioned, "Why is that so surprising? Animagi are less than common, but we are not rare, either."

Taking a deep breath, Elphaba looked around the cavernous office. She studied the portraits, watching some of them move. She looked at Minerva's books and the shelves of objects she couldn't identify. Finally, Elphaba said, "In Oz, where I came from, magic is not common. It exists, but it isn't popular. Most people fear it. The only time it's really accepted is when used by our Great and Glorious Wizard. Otherwise, it's a course of study that's looked down on. My own abilities made me quite the outcast. Earned me the title Wicked Witch of the West. Although, my behavior might've played a part in that as well."

Coming around to lean on the front edge of the desk, Minerva's interest was piqued. With keen eyes she asked, "And who was your wizard?"

"Oscar Zoroaster Diggs, although most people called him Oz the Great and Terrible. He thought a great deal of himself," Elphaba answered with disdain, "He discouraged the use of magic and carefully censored what curriculum was taught at school, and then university. He also single-handedly orchestrated the genocide of the Animals of Oz. The place was on the cusp of a war when I…left."

"And how did you leave," Minerva asked intently.

Elphaba struggled, "I…I don't know. They were throwing buckets of water at me, and I have an…allergy. It burns, terribly. I was wishing to be somewhere else, anywhere else, and the next thing I knew, I was."

"So you apparated?" Minerva clarified.

"I suppose," Elphaba reluctantly agreed.

"Were you ever taught to apparate?"

Elphaba shook her head.

Minerva studied her for a long moment, so long that Elphaba started to feel uncomfortable. Finally, she said, "Miss Thropp, you should know that we have legends about Oz. The stories came over from the Americas and have worked their way into folklore here. There are a few books in the library, mostly mythology texts, that talk about the Land of Oz, an entire wizarding society that cut itself off from everyone else. Occasionally, through the years, someone will surface who claims to have found it. Most are hoaxes that are quickly dismissed. However, there have been a few who might've been legitimate. They died before their stories could be vetted, though there are consistencies in the stories. They reference an all-powerful leader who wanted to rule with absolute control, so he cut his citizens off from the world, warded the borders so well that no one could enter or escape. After a couple of generations, the Ozians forgot there was ever an outside world, and the Muggles would never be able to find Oz. I have always been…skeptical of it all."

The two women faced off as Minerva issued what was obviously a challenge. Elphaba realized she wasn't just telling a story, Minerva was asking her to prove that Oz was real. She wanted to know that Elphaba hadn't simply read the mythology and claimed to be from Oz to conceal her past or some malicious intent.

Breaking the silence, Elphaba said, "I don't know how to get back. I've tried."

"But you have apparated other places?"

"Yes," Elphaba nodded, "When I first left Oz, I was some place terribly hot. I think I was just aiming for somewhere dry. I passed through a few other places before I ended up here. Or, actually, London. I don't know what the other places were. I didn't stay long enough to find out."

Minerva nodded and then said, "It seems we are at a bit of an impasse, then," she paused, "We have a month to prove your story. Perhaps we should work on this together?"

Elphaba studied her shrewdly and then said, "So we are partners in this?"

Minerva hesitated and then answered, "Yes."

"Can we do away with the lock on my door?" Elphaba demanded.

Minerva considered that and then said, "You cannot apparate from the grounds. And if you leave they will know. They've put a trace on you. The way things are right now, they'll likely kill you for running."

Elphaba didn't answer right away. She knew that Minerva had no reason to trust her, but she also sensed concern and fear in the other woman's tone. She seemed to want to help, and she had more information than Elphaba had found since ending up in this strange world.

So Elphaba nodded and said, "Don't worry, I have nowhere else to go."

"All right then," Minerva finally relaxed.

Clearing her throat, Elphaba asked, "So, what should I do here at…Hogwarts?"

"For now?" Minerva asked, "Read."

"Read?"

"Yes. Read," Minerva smiled, "Now, let me show you to breakfast."

Elphaba had no choice but to follow.

* * *

Later that same day, Minerva was walking the grounds, inspecting the newly restored parapets and taking in the clear, fall day. This was such a different beginning than last year. It felt good to breathe, to let go of fear and focus solely on academics again. Still, if she looked closely, the scars on the castle were there. They felt metaphorical, because the battle had been costly. Those who were lost felt like they'd been carved into Minerva's heart by Delores Umbridge's cursed quill. The only absolution was in knowing that their sacrifice had not been in vain. The wizarding world was free of tyranny and terror. A new era had begun. Still, life after war was not easy and coping with the dead was only the beginning. She'd heard that Harry seemed lost at times and Ron had a temper that wasn't doing him any favors. There were also rumors that Draco Malfoy was in trouble with the law more than not. Nothing serious, but his drinking was rapidly becoming gossip fodder. Minerva couldn't help hoping that he might come around, perhaps finally officially reject his sniveling parents' agenda. She made a note to herself to reach out to him.

Wrapping her shawl tighter around herself, she started to head back to the castle when she saw a figure sitting under a tree near the edge of the lake. Making her way over in the crisp breeze, she realized it was Hermione Granger. Hermione had her back against the tree as she stared out at the still water. As Minerva got closer, the younger girl sensed her presence and turned. Hermione wore a long, belted mauve sweater and old denim jeans. She'd never been much for appearances, although, shortly after the battle, she'd chopped off her wild mane of hair. Minerva thought it might've been her way of leaving it all behind, of trying to let go of the trauma of it all. Now, as she looked up at the Headmistress, Hermione was every bit a woman. Perhaps it was the cropped hair or the wisdom in her slender face, but she was not a young girl anymore.

Smiling, Minerva asked, "How have your first few days been?"

Hermione smiled and said, "Fine. More than fine, really. It's nice to study without also having to plan a mutiny or…something."

Minerva chuckled. She had a feeling that Hermione's decision to return for her last year of school was not just based on wanting a legitimate degree. The certificates Harry and Ron had received were no less valid than if they'd been present for their seventh years. Hermione could have any apprenticeship she wanted. Minerva felt that, unlike the boys, who wanted to get into the real world, Hermione wanted some time for herself. She suspected that Hermione needed to feel safe, to re-center herself before plunging forward with life, and Hogwarts was the safest place. Minerva couldn't blame her, since she was an only child who didn't even have a home to go back to anymore.

"You know," Minerva spoke, "the other seventh years are grumbling already that they won't have a chance at being the top of their class with you in it."

With a look of genuine concern, Hermione said, "I don't need any special honors. Just the marks I earn."

"That's very gracious, but I think a little healthy competition will be good for them."

Hermione smiled a half-smile and then there was another quiet moment. Eventually, she turned back to Minerva and asked, "Prof…I mean, Headmistress, what do you think of what's happening at the Ministry? I mean, do you think it's right to round up all the Death Eaters? Even those who've now renounced Voldemort and what he stood for?"

Minerva knew that Hermione wasn't looking to be placated. She was too smart for that. She wanted a real answer, so Minerva said, "I think a lot of them said the same thing the first time around. It's hard to believe people who've told such lies."

"But, what the Prophet is saying, are people really calling for them to be executed? Publicly?"

Minerva nodded slowly.

Hermione chewed her lip and then said, "But wouldn't that make us just like _him_?"

With a sigh, Minerva said, "Yes, I believe it would. But you must understand, people are scared. It's a different fear, now, but it remains. They fear that another Voldemort will rise from among his followers. And they want justice for the lives lost. You can't wring justice from a dead wizard, so the only recourse is to punish those who followed him."

"And the Ministry wants to appear strong. They were deceived and shamed for it, so they want to make sure everyone knows they're taking care of it," Hermione added.

"Yes," Minerva agreed, smiling at the young woman's keen instincts.

There was another long pause before Hermione finally asked, "Do you think they have Professor Snape somewhere? The former Death Eaters?"

Minerva wasn't surprised at the question. She knew that Hermione maintained her belief that Severus Snape had survived Voldemort's attempt to kill him. She kept it mostly to herself, however. To anyone who hadn't been in the boathouse that morning, the idea was ludicrous. From what Minerva understood, even Ron refused to believe her. Minerva remained undecided on the matter.

"I think," she answered Hermione, "that he would've been spotted, had he survived. He wasn't a man who could easily blend in."

"He's a wizard. A great one. He could find a way," Hermione insisted.

"Then maybe, he doesn't want to be found."

"But if he was…found," Hermione went on, "imagine his influence. He was a Death Eater who _did_ change his loyalty. He saw Voldemort for what he was, from the inside. No one else has that perspective. And he knows, better than anyone, that Mudbloods and Half-Bloods…we are valuable."

" _You_ prove that you're valuable," Minerva argued.

"Maybe," Hermione stated, "but he also knows Voldemort's followers. He knows things no one else knows. Imagine how useful that could be."

With a sigh, Minerva said, "Hermione, there is no perfect answer. The end of the battle did not mean happily-ever-after. I think you know that. We are all imperfect people, whether Witch, Wizard, or Muggle. We do our best to serve justice and make our world better, but there is no solution that is perfect. You will never rid the world of evil."

Hermione chewed her lip a bit more before saying, "I know that. But I still think, if Professor Snape were here, it would make a difference."

Minerva couldn't argue with that.

* * *

A few days later, Minerva met Mary at the Leaky Cauldron. It was a quiet afternoon, and they sat together in a corner booth. Mary was as practically perfect as always, with well-tailored robes in dark blue and polished boots. Minerva had to admit that she was stunning, with ivory skin and wide, deep blue eyes. Still, she was too headstrong. And Minerva was constantly afraid that Mary was reading her thoughts.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this private meeting?" Mary asked smoothly.

Normally, their business was conducted by owl. Before Minerva had become Headmistress, they'd had very little reason to speak at all.

Sitting up straighter, Minerva said, "I want to ask something of you."

Mary tipped her head in curiosity. She was sipping whiskey, another habit Minerva found abhorrent.

"I know we have our differences…"

Mary's lips twitched as she interjected, "I still despise Quidditch."

Minerva felt the flush of anger in her face, but she kept calm, saying, "We have our differences, but I know that you are better at finding traces of magic than almost anyone in the Ministry. And I will also admit that you know people. You know what they want, what motivates them."

"What do you want, Minerva?" Mary held her glass between delicate fingers, her eyes bright with focus.

"I want you to try to find Severus Snape."

Mary raised an eyebrow and set her glass down, and then said, "Severus Snape is dead."

Minerva hesitated and then said, "I have reason to think that might not be entirely accurate."

"Do you?" Mary looked amused.

"I'm quite serious," Minerva said lowly.

Mary studied her for a minute, most likely probing the edges of Minerva's mind. Finally, she said, "All right. Do you still have anything of his? His wand, perhaps?"

Minerva shook her head, "No. It was never found. Neither was his body, but that's been kept very quiet. His quarters at Hogwarts are mostly untouched, however. The Ministry took a few things, mostly papers, but the rest remains. We haven't gotten around to it and the new Potions Master refuses to go in there."

Mary nodded and said, "I'll come in two weeks, on Tuesday. In the evening. I start with new charges tomorrow. A family with a little boy who keeps turning his toys into frogs."

Minerva couldn't help smiling.

Finishing her drink, Mary said, "But for now, I fancy a good cup of tea."

Minerva's smile fell. Mary was watching a young man at the bar with hawk-eyed intensity. He glanced over and appeared to recognize her, giving a crooked smile.

With a chilly tone, Minerva asked, "Have you no plans to ever settle down, Mary? Albus mentioned some time ago that there was a wizard you used to fancy. Have you run him off?"

Meeting her gaze, Mary retorted, "Bert is a squib. And he is my dearest friend, nothing more. Not that's it's any concern of yours. Now, I must go."

"To tea?" Minerva asked with disdain.

With a perfect smirk, Mary stood up. She crossed the pub to where the young man was still standing, watching her. Linking her arm with his, she led him towards the back of the room where the staircase curved upwards to the rooms upstairs. Minerva huffed her disapproval as she watched them go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Another chapter. Would still love to hear some thoughts...**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Several days later, on a rainy Thursday night, Elphaba sat in a dim corner of the library at Hogwarts. She had books spread all over the table in front of her. However, her focus had narrowed to the stack of back issues of _The Daily Prophet_ that now sat on top of the books. She'd been reading for hours, her thin frame wrapped in a ragged sweater and her dark hair piled in a messy knot on her head. For the first time in months, she felt calm, like she'd gotten a shot of morphine after ages of pain. Books would always be her solace, her safe place, and her catharsis. Even during her last days in Oz, when she'd been slowly going mad in a dark castle, books had always calmed her down. Now, in this new and uncertain place, she turned to them again.

Elphaba had started coming to the library at night after the students were supposed to be in bed, because she couldn't stand the noise during the day. She wasn't sure exactly what Azkaban held, but she couldn't imagine a worse punishment than being a prisoner in a castle full of whining, shrieking, stomping adolescents who gossiped openly about her at every turn. She'd never managed, in her thirty-eight years, to come to like children. So she mostly kept to her quarters during the day and only ventured to the library at night. Tonight, she'd started the evening by reading all the historical folklore about Oz. She'd pulled every book she could find on the subject and read for herself the accounts Minerva had told her about.

Oz had never been listed on any proper maps of the wizarding world. The closest mentions were a few accounts of a group called the Ozians from hundreds of years before. They had supposedly been dissatisfied with the current leadership of the time and had threatened mutiny. They were a raggedy group of minorities, outcasts, and magical creatures. Legend said they were quickly put down, but disappeared without a trace shortly thereafter. Most witches and wizards believed they had been attacked and killed by the very tyrannical leaders of the ancient wizarding world. However, a few insisted they had made a new home in the Americas, which were mostly uninhabited at the time. The stories Elphaba read included suggested locations for their settlements and spells that might've been used to conceal the Land of the Ozians, as the books called it. The stories suggested that, as the population of the States grew, it became harder for Oz to stay completely undetected. Occasionally, someone would find their way inside and emerge with a fantastic story. They were all dismissed as crazy and none ever found their way back to the mysterious place. What interested Elphaba more, however, were the handful of stories of people who claimed to be Ozians who had come _out_ of Oz. All four accounts were from people, three witches and a wizard, who were banished from Oz. Three were hung or burned before their stories could be validated. The last one, a witch named Mariella, lived out her days in a house by the sea trying to find her way back to Oz. She was mostly left alone, and she died that way.

The more Elphaba read, the more she felt sorry for these lost souls. She understood their struggle, having been plunged into a world they had never seen and did not understand. She felt their pain, because this new world and Oz were very different. The Muggle world was full of technologies she'd never seen and clothing that was foreign to her. If living in the Muggle world was her only option, Elphaba thought she might have gone crazy as well. However, she realized the difference between her story and theirs. Elphaba had significant magical abilities. She'd never thought much of it before, as it was not a source of pride in Oz, but she was here at Hogwarts because the magical world had noticed her. Elphaba was also the first story she could find of someone getting _themselves_ out of Oz. All the others had been banished and had no idea how they got out, much less how to get back in. It made her wonder if the answer to proving Oz existed was as simple as apparating back. She'd yet to try it, however, because it was impossible inside this prison of a school.

Having tired of that train of thinking, Elphaba moved on to reading _The Daily Prophet._ She wanted to know more about her surroundings and the magical people who were keeping her here, and the news was the easiest way to find out. She read snippets going back many years, piecing together a rough idea of how the Ministry worked and what major events had occurred. She'd been unable to avoid the story of Harry Potter, from his near-death, to his schooling, to his defeat of the dark lord, Voldemort. It almost seemed too fantastical to be true, but Elphaba knew something about oppressive leadership and war. Oz might very well be in the middle of a war right now. She couldn't imagine a battle being fought by students, however. It seemed impossible to imagine the shoving, snickering brats she was forced to dine with fighting a war, but the _Prophet_ said it had happened.

With a sigh, Elphaba sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes. She needed to get some sleep, but she was still restless. It was hard to truly rest when there was nothing during the day to tire out her mind. Glancing around the room, she saw another figure hunched over a table. The dim light revealed short, cropped hair in a glossy brown. She had a strong jaw and an upturned nose. She was also thin and wrapped in her own stringy sweater. Sensing Elphaba's gaze, she turned. Elphaba met her eyes and recognized her.

 _Hermione Granger._

Elphaba remembered reading about her. She felt an odd sort of connection, because this Hermione seemed as awkward, studious, and full of conviction as she had been at that age. Hermione, however, had won _her_ war. Elphaba had only succeeded in being vilified by the whole of Oz. Perhaps because it was so late, or because she hadn't properly spoken to anyone in days, Elphaba quietly got up and crossed the space. She sat down across from Hermione and they stared each other down for several minutes.

Finally, Elphaba asked, "You're Hermione?"

Without flinching, the younger girl said, "And you are Elphaba Thropp."

"How do you know?" Elphaba asked.

"I read," Hermione stated flatly.

"Well, we have that in common," Elphaba returned evenly.

Sitting up straighter, Hermione asked, "Do you really believe you come from Oz?"

Taken aback, Elphaba said, "I _know_ that I came from Oz."

Hermione said nothing, but her eyes belied that fact that she was not convinced.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Elphaba demanded.

"Because," Hermione fired back, "No one has ever proven it exists. And I know. I've read all of it. And the last thing we need is another witch or wizard showing up and trying to cause trouble. We've had enough trouble for ages to come."

As she spoke, Elphaba caught a glimpse of fear in the young woman's eyes. She might be an adult now, and hardened from war, but she was still young. She'd been forced into making decisions beyond her years, and now the vulnerability was returning. Elphaba felt for her, because she had once been that idealistic young girl who needed only a cause and bare-knuckle bravery. Now, however, she was twenty years older with nothing but a list of crimes and a label of insanity to show for it.

"What are you reading tonight?" Elphaba changed the subject.

Acquiescing, Hermione said, "I'm scanning the papers for sightings of someone."

"Someone famous?" Elphaba smirked.

Hermione shook her head.

Elphaba should've guessed that Hermione Granger would never be so silly as to pine for a musician or a film star.

"Who, then?" Elphaba pressed.

Sighing, Hermione said, "Severus Snape. A professor who taught here."

"Really?" Elphaba was very confused. She vaguely remembered reading that name in the articles about the Battle of Hogwarts.

Worrying her lip, Hermione went on, "I really must find him. I never thought I would say that, but I want to talk to him."

Smiling a little, Elphaba said, "I wouldn't have picked you to have a crush on a teacher."

Snapping her head up to meet Elphaba's eyes, Hermione stated, "Absolutely not. This has nothing to do with anything that silly. And I have a boyfriend."

Chuckling, Elphaba said, "We young crusaders have no time for love, do we?"

Hermione looked annoyed and said, "I just told you, I have a boyfriend."

"And where is he?" Elphaba threw back.

Glancing down, Hermione said, "In London. He's apprenticing at the Ministry. His name is Ron. And we may be apart a lot right now, and he may drive me absolutely mad half the time, but…I love him. I do."

Feeling a twinge of compassion, Elphaba softened and said, "Well, then never take him for granted."

Hermione's expression changed from annoyed to wistful, and Elphaba felt a flash of a memory – a dark loft, blood on the floor, blood on her hands, and the absolute certainty that _he_ was gone. She shook it off. Elphaba would not dig up her past again.

Instead, she asked, "Why this…Severus Snape? Why is he worthy of your concern?'

Pushing her hair back, Hermione dug through her stack of papers. Pulling out a copy of _The Prophet_ , she pushed it toward Elphaba and said, "Here. This explains some of it."

The article was dated three months previous, in June. Next to it, on the cover, was a large photo of a man. It was a close shot, as though taken for a portrait. Elphaba studied the man's long, unkempt dark hair and severe features. His mouth was set in a grimace and he was all nose and cheekbones. However, his eyes struck her. They were dark, fathomless eyes that constantly glanced to the right in the moving photo. The article detailed how Snape had served as Headmaster at Hogwarts for a year and had been considered one of the Dark Lord's greatest assets during his final reign of terror. The price on Severus Snape's head had been almost as high as Voldemort's at one time. However, as Elphaba read on, she realized that this article served as something of an obituary or a eulogy for a man who would never have a proper funeral. A quote from Harry Potter himself stated:

 _The truth is, Severus Snape was quite possibly the bravest man I ever knew, but I was never able to see it while he lived. I won't reveal all that his memories showed me, but he chose to keep the best parts of himself secret so that he might be able to serve as a double agent when the Dark Lord returned three years ago. He was a man who felt great remorse for his mistakes and who was willing to go to his grave trying to right his wrongs. Were it not for Severus Snape, I believe Hogwarts would've been entirely at the mercy of the Carrows this past year, and Dumbledore's Army would not have been able to penetrate the castle. Ultimately, he chose to die rather than reveal what he must've known, that either myself or Draco Malfoy was the master of the Elder Wand. He chose to die, rather than send Voldemort after us with the truth._

Elphaba read the rest of the article, which discussed Severus Snape's role at the school over the years and how Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had trusted him without question for seventeen years. The article didn't fully explain what had prompted Snape to suddenly and vehemently change sides, but Elphaba suspected it had something to do with Harry Potter's near-death as an infant. As she finished reading, she felt a strange jealousy in her gut. She had tried for so many years to right her own wrongs, to make some sort of good out of her life, but she'd only been labeled a wicked witch. While Oz's Great and Glorious Wizard had slowly plunged the land into genocide and war, she'd been unable to stir a rebellion to save the Animals. They were forced out, like Mudbloods and Muggle-borns. Elphaba couldn't help wishing that she'd had a Professor Dumbledore, or even a Harry Potter to clear her name and to see that she was no villain. She wished for her own vindication. Of course, in her story, she hadn't managed to kill the wizard.

When Elphaba looked back up from the paper, Hermione quietly said, "Professor Snape gave up his whole life to protect Harry, to make sure Voldemort would be defeated," she paused, "and he did it all because he loved Lily Potter."

"Lily Potter?" Elphaba asked.

"Harry's mum," Hermione explained, "She and Professor Snape grew up together. They were inseparable. But, things went wrong and Lily and James Potter ended up dead. Harry, Professor McGonagall, and I agreed not to share the intimate details of all of it with the press."

Elphaba listened, trying to put the pieces together. She was old enough to deduce there must have been some sort of complicated love triangle that had played out. She was reminded of how many battles were fought over love.

"Why do you want to talk to him so badly?" Elphaba asked.

Hermione sighed and answered, "The Ministry is rounding up all the former Death Eaters and imprisoning them. The public is calling for executions without trial. It feels like we're in a dangerous place. Most of the witnesses to the Dark Lord's meetings have fled. But I believe that reacting too quickly, and out of panic, will only perpetuate fear of one another. We will find another group to hate and divide ourselves again. And we cannot vindicate merciless bloodshed with more bloodshed."

Cocking her head, Elphaba said, "You're a smart girl, Hermione Granger. A smart _woman_."

Hermione smiled a little and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"So how does Snape figure into this?" Elphaba asked.

Hermione went on, "He is the only person left who was privy to all that Dumbledore knew, and Dumbledore was very secretive. But he confided more in Professor Snape than anyone, even Harry. And Snape is also the only person who had access to both sides. Serving both sides, he knew more about the war than anyone. He knew everyone involved, intimately. He is the greatest witness. And," she paused, "he is the only Death Eater who we can be absolutely sure actually switched sides. He would know better than anyone who is loyal now."

Scanning the article again, Elphaba asked, "And what makes you think he is alive?"

Hermione glanced away and said nothing.

* * *

"I'm not serving you any more, Draco. Go home," Claire, the current bar maid at The Three Broomsticks, growled as the Monday afternoon sun struggled against the clouds outside the windows.

Draco glared back at her. She would not be intimidated, however. Claire had taken over for Madame Rosmerta after the Battle of Hogwarts, as she had never fully recovered from the trauma of it all. Draco was now forced to drink in this dreadfully quaint pub because Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had decided their family should retreat to an old family property passed down from Lucius' grandfather. The old house was east of Hogsmeade in the absolute middle of nowhere. The Malfoys had sensed the growing uneasiness in the Ministry and had decided to put some distance between themselves and London. Draco wasn't sure if they were hoping to be forgotten, or simply to have an easy escape into the Scottish mountains should executioners come knocking. Either way, he was finding it hard to care. He was an outcast now, known only for his cowardice among the former Death Eaters and for his manipulative deception among the rest of the wizarding world.

 _Fuck them all,_ Draco thought to himself.

Getting up from the bar, he crossed to the large, stone fireplace. Dropping into one of the worn chairs, he stared into the embers of a neglected fire. He didn't want to go home. It wasn't that late and his parents would be awake, waiting to glower at him for being such a massive disappointment. Raking back his white-blonde hair, he calculated how many weeks he had before the Hogwarts students took over the town for their first weekend out of the castle. He planned to be far away that weekend.

While lost in his thoughts, another figure entered the pub and dropped into the chair opposite him. Eventually, Draco looked over to see a girl staring miserably into the fire. She had dark hair that was pulled back into a long, tight braid, but wisps were escaping near her temples. In profile, her sloped nose dropped off above pouting lips. She didn't appear very tall and she certainly wasn't striking in her beauty. When she finally looked at Draco, however, she had wide, dark eyes that could be appealing. She wore no makeup and her robes were worn. She also looked miserable.

Almost in spite of himself, he asked, "Rough day?"

With a sigh, she said, "Rough month."

Her accent was distinctly Scottish, so Draco wondered if she was a local. There weren't very many homes close to Hogsmeade, however.

"Are you new to the area?" he asked, deciding to be chivalrous since he'd started the conversation.

"Aye," she answered, "To Hogwarts. Oldest First Year I think they've ever 'ad."

Draco just stared at her, confused.

Sitting up in the chair, she explained, "I've just come to Hogwarts. I was never offered the opportunity until now. My childhood was…nomadic."

Draco studied her more closely. She seemed so plain, so uninteresting, like she should've come from a clan like the Weasleys. It was hard to imagine her living a rogue existence among the Muggles, escaping the reaches of Hogwarts, especially since she sounded like someone who'd been raised here.

Realizing he was staring and not speaking, Draco finally asked, "Well…what house are you in?"

With a troubled expression, she said, "Slytherin."

Affronted, Draco sat up straighter and said, "You should be proud, then. I come from a family of Slytherins."

Chewing her lip, she asked, "And what's your name?"

"Draco," he lost some of his courage, "Draco Malfoy."

If she recognized him, she gave nothing away in her expression.

He asked, "What about you?"

"Stella," she said softly, "Stella Dunbar."

* * *

In mid-September, less than a week before she was due to meet with Minerva again, Mary apparated herself to Spinner's End in Cokeworth. She'd known for some time where the Snape family had made their home. She'd had more than one assignment in this run-down area, trying to convince parents to relinquish their children to Hogwarts. The people who lived here were working class, and even when Muggle parents accepted magic, it was hard to convince them of its use. Mary had heard many a rumor about Tobias Snape and his extreme displeasure at having a wizard for a son. He'd wanted a boy more suited for fishing the waters of the North Atlantic than reading books and brewing potions. Mary remembered being shocked that Severus had been sent to Hogwarts at all. She thought certainly Tobias would've forbidden it. Now, standing in front of the Snape residence, she was very glad that Severus had been sent away.

Using a quick spell, she easily broke through the door locks and the weak enchantments meant to keep out intruders. Clearly, no one had maintained the home's defenses or even checked them in some time. It doused Mary's hopes that she would find Severus here. Once inside, she scanned the space. It was dark and small, with neglected furniture and plentiful cobwebs. Walking around, Mary noted the walls were lined with books. She wondered if Severus' mother had shared his love of reading or if he had stocked the library after his parents' deaths.

Walking through the study and into the lounge, Mary deduced from the chaotic state of things that not only had the place been abandoned, but the Ministry had already come through. They couldn't have taken much, based on the clutter, but she wondered what they might've found. Continuing through, she searched the kitchen and tiny bedrooms. Everything seemed thoroughly unused. Clothes still hung in one of the closets and she suspected the robes belonged to Severus. Picking her way down the stairs, Mary examined the basement last. There, she found a potions laboratory. Ingredients lined the shelves and cauldrons littered the counters. Studying the vials and bottles, Mary imagined that if Severus were alive, he would've raided this place and taken at least the rare ingredients. She couldn't imagine him in exile with absolutely no supplies. With a sigh, she pushed her glossy hair back in place. The evidence was pointing more and more toward Severus Snape having died in battle, as was the official story. She wasn't sure what Minerva was on about, thinking he was alive, but she would certainly ask more questions the following Tuesday. Until then, she was back to London to take on more charges.

* * *

The next Sunday, in the quiet hours before the dinner rush began, Elphaba stood in the Great Hall waiting for Minerva. They hadn't been able to speak much over the past two weeks, as Minerva had been busy with organizing the first Quidditch practices of the year. Even Elphaba, who had never been partial to sports, could sense the excitement in the student body over finally being able to play or watch their favorite sport again. She knew from her reading that it had been a year since the houses played properly, and the restoration of the pitch was another step in returning the school to a new normal.

Finally arriving in the cavernous space, Minerva approached Elphaba and said, "My apologies. I still can't resist watching the Gryffindor team get started, even if I have to be a little more discreet now. The headmistress is supposed to be impartial, after all. Can't favor my own house any longer."

Minerva gave a sly grin and Elphaba couldn't help smiling in return.

Looking Elphaba over, Minerva said thoughtfully, "I would be curious to know what the sorting hat would do with you."

"Sorting hat?" Elphaba raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. It's the way we sort our students into their houses," Pointing at the banners on the wall and the vials with the house points, Minerva listed, "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

"I see," Elphaba nodded, studying the different crests and colors. Noting the green, she said, "I would imagine your hat would take one look at me and say Slytherin faster than anyone could think it."

With a chuckle, Minerva said, "Possibly. But I've learned never to make assumptions when it comes to sorting. Just recently I had another student utterly surprise me."

"Recently? Do you sort all year long?" Elphaba asked.

"No," Minerva shook her silver-haired head, "But I had a late arrival this year. I'm afraid you're not the only rogue witch at Hogwarts. We have a student who managed to avoid us for six years. Her parents refused to let her come to school."

Looking thoughtful, Elphaba asked, "And they changed their minds now?"

"No," Minerva shook her head, "They're dead. But they were her adoptive parents. Sad story, I'm afraid. Her name is Stella, and she's a lonely thing," she paused and then said, "Perhaps you might speak to her. The two of you might have some things in common."

Scoffing, Elphaba said, "I doubt that."

Not pressing the matter, Minerva went on, "About you, now. The Ministry is pushing for me to give them some evidence of where you came from and what your intentions are. Intentions are a bit subjective, I'm afraid, but we can go a long way toward showing them you mean no harm by proving your story about Oz is true."

Taking a pause, Elphaba asked, "Do you believe me?"

Studying the green girl, Minerva replied, "I _want_ to believe you. But I have learned over the past few years that people can be very convincing in their deceptions, both good and bad."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Elphaba asked, "How do I prove it to you? That Oz is real?"

"Tell me how to get there," Minerva answered.

"I can't."

There was a long, pregnant pause.

Minerva finally asked, "You seem adept at apparition. Can you apparate there?"

"I don't know. I've never tried," Elphaba answered.

Looking shocked, Minerva demanded, "Why ever not?"

"Because, I have no desire to go back there. They want me dead, Minerva. I'm the Wicked Witch of the West. If they catch a glimpse of me, they'll come after me with everything they can muster. More than water this time."

Studying Elphaba with piercing eyes, Minerva said, "Taking me there could be your only vindication. You must understand the seriousness of the situation. Our Ministry is shaking its fist right now. They need everyone to believe they are strong again. If they decide you are a former Death Eater in disguise, perhaps using charms to hide your identity, they will incarcerate you."

Standing up straighter, Elphaba snapped, "And they will take your word for what I've shown you? Assuming I could."

"No," Minerva stated, "They will search both of our memories, to determine if they agree with one another."

"We could have conspired with each other, fabricated the memories," Elphaba shot back.

Minerva smiled a little, "You have been studying quite a bit, have you?"

Elphaba nodded.

"Fabricating identical memories would be exceedingly difficult."

Elphaba walked away for a moment, studying the jewel-filled cylinders representing the house points once again. She reached up and touched the outside of the Slytherin vial, comparing the green of her skin to the stones inside.

"Are these real gemstones?" she asked thoughtfully.

"Yes," Minerva nodded, "Emeralds. Sapphires for Ravenclaw. Rubies for Gryffindor."

"And what...citrine?" Elphaba indicated the Hufflepuff vial.

"No," Minerva stated, "Yellow diamonds."

Elphaba studied the stones and asked, "Is there a metaphor in that?"

Minerva smiled slightly and said, "Possibly."

Elphaba was considering, in the moment, how much the Great and Glorious Wizard of Oz would've loved to be sorted into a house of emeralds, when something else caught her attention. On the surface of the emeralds, barely visible in the low light, was a faint inscription. Feeling her breath catch, Elphaba said, "Sweet Oz…"

"What?" Minerva asked, approaching.

"How did you get the emeralds?" Elphaba demanded.

Taken aback, Minerva said, "They were given by the house founder, Salazar Slytherin. They are the finest emeralds in the world. Salazar had them marked with his initial so they could never be replaced."

Shaking her head, Elphaba said, "No. They're Ozian, from the Glikkun mines. That's not an 'S.' It's a 'Z.'"

Warily, Minerva said, "That's quite a claim to make. And it's tenuous at best."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Elphaba asked, "But what if it's true? What if I'm right? Wouldn't that be a discovery worth making? Would that vindicate me, if I could take you to where these stones are mined and marked?"

Minerva stared her down for a long time before saying, "I believe anything that enriches the history of our world is worth discovering, Miss Thropp," she paused, "I'll arrange a meeting in my office. There are certain…exceptions there."

Elphaba nodded, not sure what that meant, but sensing she would have to return to Oz whether she wanted to or not.

* * *

Two days later, Mary met Minerva just outside the gates of Hogwarts. She found it tedious that she couldn't simply apparate into the castle. Mary felt like someone as important as herself, who had done as much as she had for magical education, should be given an exemption. She could usually charm those in power into giving her most anything she wanted, including permission to reveal her magic to Muggle children, leniency in using her ageless spell, and the right to fly without a broom. Mary Poppins could convince almost anyone to do what she wanted, but Hogwarts was very much in the hands of its leader. Albus Dumbledore had refused Mary's charms, which she had a hunch wasn't because of his incredible willpower. He preferred a different sort. She didn't see things going any more smoothly with Minerva McGonagall, who loved following the rules more than she loved breathing.

So, because she got no special treatment, Mary hiked up to the castle with Minerva at her side. Silently, they made their way through the castle as the sun dropped below the horizon. It would be impossible to tell the time of day, however, as they descended into the dungeons. The air became cool and damp, and Mary wondered how anyone could live down here. She didn't mind the coolness, but she preferred fresh air and at least a glimpse of sun. Pulling a dark shawl around herself, she followed Minerva into what was once Severus Snape's personal quarters.

Immediately, Mary felt a push against her senses, as though something of Severus' magic lingered, rejecting the intrusion. She didn't think Minerva could sense it, but Mary was sensitive in this way. She could feel the traces of magic that was centuries old. With sharp eyes, Mary walked around the space, noting the spare décor and dark furnishings. Severus had certainly lived a life devoid of any frivolity. There were no photos or trinkets in his spaces. There was simply a sitting area near a deep, dark fireplace, a large, four-post bed now stripped of linens, and a washroom through a far door.

Minerva offered, "The Ministry was through already. They didn't find much, but took a few rolls of parchment. Severus kept everything in his head. When I think of it now, I can't imagine how hard that must have been, and the focus it must have taken."

"Absolute occlumency," Mary murmured, "Very dangerous long-term."

Minerva nodded.

Walking slowly around the space, Mary asked, "You're sure they never found a body?"

"Quite sure," Minerva stated, "Neither body nor wand."

It was Mary's turn to nod. She continued to move, trailing her slender fingers over the furniture and the stone walls. She could feel the spaces Severus had found the most pleasant – the chair by the fire, the cabinet of potions in the corner, and the tiny writing desk. The larger table spoke of its non-use and the bed gave off only disconcertion. In the far corner, however, Mary suddenly stopped. Leaning against the wall, in the shadows, was an old cello. It was worn and most likely out of tune, but it was obviously a fine instrument. Mary ran her hand over the neck and she could almost feel the warmth of pleasure in it. It was strange, because everything else felt so cold. Crossing back to the fireplace, she sat down for a moment and critically examined her surroundings again. Suddenly, her eyes flicked up to the mantle above the fireplace. A large, framed painting sat on the dusty ledge, as though it was intended to either be hung or carried away in a hurry. Standing, Mary crossed the space and studied it.

It was a seascape, with rolling, gray waves pounding a rocky shore. The grass in the foreground was long and wild and the sky was streaked with color. Barely visible on the far left, perched on the cliffs, was a tiny house, dark and alone. It was a lonely painting, full of wild emotion and tempestuous energy. Touching the brush strokes, Mary felt a yearning that was almost an ache.

Behind her, Minerva snapped skeptically, "Is it telling you something?"

Not taking the bait, Mary turned and said evenly, "If he's alive, this is where he is."


End file.
